


In Somnis Veritas

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Dreams, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 18:50:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3499100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Winter Soldier dreams, his name is Bucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Somnis Veritas

He doesn’t think.

He sits down on the utilitarian bed in the motel room. Takes out his gun, dismantles it, cleans it. Sets it carefully back into the case. Now, his gun is all he is, his purpose, his meaning. He barely glances out the window at the city, sky full of gleaming skyscrapers, people crowding the streets, even late at night. He walks into the bathroom, dropping his stained clothing in a pile on the floor. He will destroy it, like he always does. He steps into the shower, scrubbing away the grime.

He walks back into the bedroom, lays on the bed and closes his eyes. He is the perfect soldier, the perfect assassin, so he is asleep instantly.

* * *

 

When he opens his eyes, he is somewhere different, yet strangely familiar. The buildings aren’t quite as tall, the streets not so busy. Everything is tinted slightly sepia, like an old photograph, a forgotten memory of some distant time that now never was.

After all, the Winter Soldier does not remember.

But he dreams.

He is sitting at a table. There’s a man across from him, small and frail and all the stronger for it. He knows this man. He thinks he loves him. The man is bloody and bruised. Part of him wants to laugh, because this is so typical for Steve, picking fights he can’t win. Part of him is filled with rage, and wants to lash out at everyone who has hurt Steve, who can’t see everything he holds inside him for what is outside.

“Bucky?” He looks up, sees that Steve (his name is Steve, of course it is, Steve who he’s known since childhood—) is giving him a quizzical look. He sees his metal hand—no, flesh—is clenched tightly into a fist. He relaxes, gives Steve a casual smile. He’s angry, but not a Steve, never at Steve. He shakes his head and stands, walking over to Steve.

“Why do you always get into fights you can’t win?” he says, stroking a finger along the purple bruise on Steve’s cheek.

Steve smiles at him, and says in that earnest way he has, “You can’t win if you don’t fight.”

Bucky sighs. He wants to reach out to Steve then, to pull him into his arms, and hold him close. To protect him from the fights, because why does Steve have to fight, to get hurt like this?

“C’mon,” Bucky says. He knows this isn’t an argument he can win. They’ve had it before, they’ll have it again (Steve’s words echo in his head), but right now, he’s hungry, and he bets Steve is too. “Let’s get something to eat.”

Steven grins up him, and Bucky feels his heart warm. He holds open the door, and they walk out into the early morning sun.

* * *

 

Then time shifts and twists and it’s no longer a sunny Brooklyn morning, but a dark German night. He’s lying awake on his creaky, hard cot, sweaty and breathing hard from a nightmare. He always has nightmares now, though he never remembers what they are. Zola must have done something with his memory as well as his body, because when he awakes, all he remembers is terror and pain.

He rolls over, clutching the blanket closer to his body, shaking slightly. He won’t sleep again tonight. He gets up, pulls on his boot and coats, and walks out of the tent into the cold night. The moon is full and bright, painting the world in a surreal white light. It fits his mood. Everything now seems unreal, like some terrible nightmare. Sometimes when he wakes up, he still thinks he’ll open his eyes to a sunny morning in Brooklyn, and the sound of Steve quietly bustling around the tiny kitchen, making eggs and toast.

He takes a shaky breath. Brooklyn is so far away now. There’s no way to return.

“Bucky?”

He starts, then forces himself to calm down. It’s just Steve. He doesn’t need as much sleep anymore, since he’s changed. He still seems strange and unfamiliar to Bucky, this large, muscular man wearing his beloved friend’s face. Bucky knows that they are one and the same, that even though Steve’s body has changed, his spirit remains the same.

“Are you okay?”

He remembers when he used to ask Steve that, after he got into fights, got beaten up. But now it’s Bucky who is weak, and Steve who is strong. And unlike Steve before, he is weak on the outside and the inside.

“C’mon,” Steve says. He rests a hand on Bucky’s elbow, pulling him away. Bucky doesn’t know where they are going, but follows blindly, because when has Steve ever steered him wrong? He stumbles over a rock in the dark, and Steve holds him up. Bucky still wants to pull Steve close, but now he wants to bury his head in Steve’s chest, strange and unfamiliar as it is, and smell his scent, and remember when they were safe.

“Hey,” Steve says quietly. They’re standing in front of Steve’s tent. He gets his own because, (Bucky almost wants to snort), he’s _Captain America_. Steve lets go of Bucky’s elbow, pushes aside the flap, gestures for Bucky to go in.

“I’m fine, Steve,” Bucky says. He doesn’t move. He isn’t fine, but fuck if he’s going to let Steve know that. He has to be strong one. Steve has too much on his plate to deal with Bucky falling apart.

“Sure you are,” Steve says. “But come in anyway. I want to talk to you, and I bet you’re not going back to sleep again.”

Bucky glances up at the moon, then back at the way they came. Steve’s right, of course. So he shrugs in an attempt to appear nonchalant, and enters the tent.

Despite the fact Steve is Captain America, this is still a war zone, and the contents of the tent are pretty sparse. Just a small cot, much like Bucky’s, and a chair with some clothes draped over it. Bucky considers his position, then sits on the bed.

“So, what do you want?” he asks. He tries to keep it casual, like they’re back at their tiny Brooklyn apartment, and Steve’s just telling him about some asshole he picked a fight with.

Steve sits next to him, too close for Bucky’s comfort, and Bucky holds himself in place, to keep from pulling away, or moving closer.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” he says. He’s looking at Bucky intently, that look that Steve has where you feel he’s looking right at your soul, and Bucky feels naked, exposed. He considers lying, playing it off.

“No,” he says instead.

Much to his surprise, Steve gives him a little grin, twisted and rueful. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say to that. But it turns out he doesn’t have to say anything, because then Steve takes his hand.

“I—I dream about when I found out you were captured.” Steve takes a shaky breath, fingers clenching around Bucky’s hand. “They thought you were dead. I didn’t, I knew—“

“You can’t help what you’re afraid of,” Bucky says. His own fingers tighten, entwine with Steve’s. He looks up, and meets Steve’s eyes.

“Sometimes, I wonder if we can even win,” Steve says, so quiet Bucky barely hears it. Bucky’s thought it too, so many damn times, fear and horror tightening in his chest, gripping at his heart. But to hear Steve say it—no. Because Steve can’t give up. If he does, what will Bucky have left?

He’s not sure what makes him do it, but he reaches up, fingers threading through Steve’s hair, and pulls him down for a kiss, quick and awkward and fumbling. When he pulls back again, Steve’s eyes are wide and surprised, but he’s not pulling away.

“You can’t win if you don’t fight,” Bucky says. Steve blinks at him, then smiles, and it’s small and tentative, but Bucky thinks it’s genuine. And then Steve’s leaning down again, and Bucky closes his eyes—

* * *

 

He wakes up at six in the morning exactly, as the sun is just creeping through the shades. He dresses quickly and methodically, checks his gun, stows his small suitcase under the bed. He stands and faces the window. He has a mission, and he will complete it. His target is Steven Rogers, also known as Captain America.

You can’t win if you don’t fight.


End file.
